


Save the Last Dance

by amanitamuscaria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Secret Snarry Swap 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8727586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanitamuscaria/pseuds/amanitamuscaria
Summary: The little portrait in the corner of the library seems to be developing strange powers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Mods for getting us even more Snarry!
> 
> Written for Prompt #41 from Goddess47: After the war, Harry has re-warded Grimmauld Place; Severus is doing research on a potion and thinks a copy of the book he needs is in the Black family library.

Shacklebolt looked at the gaunt man sitting beside the hospital bed.

"You're sure?"

"I want to leave now," the other croaked, "I've had enough of being poked and prodded."

"I've arranged for an owl and a house-elf. Anything else you need, let me know."

"Just make sure no one knows. I think I've earnt some peace and quiet."

"We owe you a great deal more than that; if you'd only let me -"

"No. Just Albus's place on the Downs, as we've arranged."

***

"Geez, I am so glad we got rid of the dusty menace!"

Ron threw himself into a seat at the kitchen table.

"I sort of miss him," Harry said, playing with his coffee cup.

"Do you? You need to get out more."

They heard a yelp from the hallway.

"Well, your man-trap seems pretty effective," Harry said, getting up.

"Woman-trap, and it took me all of ten seconds to get out of it," Hermione said as she came in.

"It's only the first line of defence," Ron muttered.

"Yeah, we thought an immobilisation charm to fire automatically?"

Hermione looked at them both. "Perhaps, or maybe something to send an unwelcome visitor directly to the Aurors? After all, you might be away - you wouldn't want someone to be able to get free."

"Brilliant idea," Ron enthused. "Straight into one of the holding cells."

"What if it's someone we know, but just haven't added to the wards? It'd be a bit embarrassing if we sent Neville or Percy to the Aurors."

"Well, all right. A charm to determine intent, then."

"Can you do that?"

""Hmm - I think so - determining whether someone wants to harm Harry isn't the problem. It's just like the charm on the coins for Dumbledore's Army, after all."

"Trigger it to drop an activated portkey if it's an enemy, that would do it," Ron suggested hopefully.

Harry held back a snort - he was sure Hermione already had a solution, but Ron was still trying to impress her.

Sometimes, their circling around each other was funny, sometimes he thought he would scream if they didn't just decide they would get together. 

***

Shacklebolt smiles at the owl perched on his windowsill.

"That didn't take as long as I thought," he chuckles as it holds out its leg with the message tied to it.

'I read that so-called Healers are visiting their barbarities on children caught in the cross-fire of multiple curses. Send all details on at least three cases immediately. I might be able to salvage some sanity and bodily functions remaining to the sufferers before the incompetents of St. Mungo's kill them with their 'Healing' if you do not delay informing me of the particulars. SS'

He laughs out loud, and scribbles, 'Will send case notes this morning. KS', before dressing. He has a stop to make at St.Mungo's before going to the office.

***

Harry runs up the stairs; had the thud come from the Tapestry Room? No, nothing in there when he glances through the half-open door. The Library, then. Nothing, until he sees a small painting lying face-down on the floor in the far dusty corner.

"So, who might you be?" He picks up the painting, turning it to the light. It's very dark and dirty, he thinks he can make out a figure hunched in a chair, but the grey walls in the painting give him an uneasy feeling. He's seen that place before, but where? Hogwarts? Gringotts? The Ministry. Level 10, where his trial had taken place, and where he'd witnessed Mary Cattermole's trial.

"OK, I don't know who you are, but let's get you back up on the wall. At least you're not shouting obscenities at me."

He hangs the portrait up, reminding himself to research a cleaning charm the portrait won't object to.

***

"So where are you researching, old friend?" Shacklebolt muses as he gathers the most recent information on the Longbottoms.

Although the suggested cures and interventions have been successful on previous cases, he can't help feeling that tackling Mind Magic injuries decades old would be beyond anyone's capabilities. But it's not just the Longbottoms - there are other, more recent cases to consider.

"No one else has had any suggestions, I just hope you can get somewhere with this. Take your time; you've always come through in the end."

He sends his eagle owl flying off with the bundle of notes.

***

The Library again. When Harry gets there, there are two books lying on the floor near the dusty corner. He glances at the little portrait, then picks up the books.

"Hm. _Traps and Imprisonments_ and _Securing and Binding Hexes_. Would you be trying to escape?"

He pulls the footstool over to the portrait, but there's nothing to see besides the dark hunched shape. 

"Kreacher?" he calls, and the elf appears.

"Who is that portrait of?"

"Master Vindictus Black, Master."

"And who and when was Vindictus Black?"

"During the Goblin Wars, Master Vindictus killed many goblins and took their armour. He was a brave and valiant fighter. He built the family home here, but other wizards were jealous and imprisoned him."

"So, he's been here a long time. Why would he be trying to escape now?"

The elf looks up at Harry, bloodshot eyes blinking.

"Can you clean the portrait?"

Kreacher nods, doubtfully, and peers at the painting.

Harry takes the books downstairs to the kitchen, where his mug of tea is waiting.

Why would an old portrait be looking up hexes? Could a portrait even summon things? He'd have to ask Hermione when she next dropped by.

He tries to remember when he last saw Ron and Hermione. Maybe it would be good to go over to see them.

***

Ron is chopping vegetables when Harry arrives at their flat.

"Hey, mate. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry says, feeling guilty. Is it that obvious? And what sort of a friend is he, anyway, if he only comes to see his friends when he wants something?

Hermione comes home, and they sit at the kitchen table talking about their jobs, their lives, and it's almost like the old days.

Almost.

Ron and Hermione finish each other's sentences. 

There are glances full of meaning or amusement between them, which Harry is not a part of.  
Not any longer, and he wonders if he ever was a part of that unspoken communication.

"Okay, Harry, out with it," Hermione puts the filled teapot on the table and sits.

"Well, it's just - can portraits make objects move?" Harry blurts out.

"Portraits? I don't think so, all they can do is speak to people. And they can't really talk about things they didn't experience in life."

"Hm. In that case, I may have a poltergeist in my library."

"Pretty unlikely, I'd say; we'd have heard them when we were living there, wouldn't we? What's happening?"

"Books and a portrait on the floor; nothing much. It's just, I tried to get a response from anything in the room, but nothing."

"Well, I'll ask around, but you've tried Revelio and Communicat Spiritibus?"

"Yeah, I did those, and Loquibus and Coramme."

"I'll ask around at work, but the only thing I can think of is that it might be an entity that can't speak?"

"But how did it get in? We locked the place down pretty well," Ron interjects. "Anyway, I'm off to bed. Early shift tomorrow," he looks at Harry apologetically.

"Oh - sure. I've got to get back too. Thanks for supper, I'll do you a return one, yeah?"

Ron's eyes light up, "A Hogwarts one?" he asks hopefully.

"Sure, Kreacher's pretty mellow these days."

"That's it - you should probably ask Kreacher. He'll know if there's anything in the library that shouldn't be," Hermione states.

***

Harry asks Kreacher the next morning, "Is there anyone in the library that shouldn't be there?"

"No, Master."

"Is there anyone, or anything in the house that shouldn't be here?"

"No, Master." Kreacher's ears flap about his face as he vigorously shakes his head.

"Well, OK. But you will tell me if there is anything?"

"Yes, Master."

He sits down to the breakfast Kreacher brings him every morning, he suspects from Hogwarts.

Tea and toast and marmalade - once Ron and Hermione had moved out, he'd managed to stop the multitude of dishes that appeared whenever he requested food.

When he goes to the library, there are books on the floor again. He peers at the portrait; it looks like Kreacher has cleaned it, as the walls of the courtroom are more evident, though the inhabitant of the horrible chair is as vague and unclear as ever.

"Specialis Revelio," Harry tries, on the off chance, but nothing happens.

"No? OK, let's see what you were trying to look at."

He drags a comfortable-looking chair over to the portrait and sits down with the books he's picked up.

They, like the others, are about entrapment and binding spells.

"Hmm - still trying to get out of there? Can't say I blame you. I hated that place, too."

He leafs through them, interested to find that the components of the trap they'd set for intruders aren't in any of the books, making the occasional comment on the spells out loud.

"Wonder where Hermione got it from?" he muses as he checks other likely volumes.

He glances up to see a little flurry, as though the inhabitant of that ominous painted chair had just retaken their seat.

"Are you getting bored in there?"

Nothing.

"Shall I leave some reading matter open for you?"

Nothing.

He positions Barrett's _Locks and Entrapments_ open on the back of the armchair in view of the portrait, and goes down to see about supper.

It's a little sad, he thinks as he eats the soup he's found in the pantry, that he feels more comfortable talking to a portrait than he does his friends. He takes a cup of tea upstairs to the library to settle in that comfy chair, in the calm quiet atmosphere.

The book he's left open has fallen onto the seat of the chair.

He picks it up, looking at the portrait.

"Hard to turn pages, is it? Maybe I can sort something out for that."

He props the book up on the back of his armchair with a 'Legere Librum Taciti,' then settles down with another of the books.

It's almost like having a friend, a companion reading in the room with him, the steady turning of the pages in counterpoint to his own reading. He knows he feels quite safe with whatever, whoever is in that portrait, a feeling he suspects he would not have with someone called Vindictus.

***

Harry meets Ron and Hermione in the Atrium of the Ministry, and lets them guide him to the Function Room. After all, they're the ones who work in the place. A group, obviously Aurors off-duty, wave to Ron, and Hermione gets a few reserved nods from, Harry suspects, her colleagues in Mysteries.

"Go on, I want to talk to Kingsley." He sends them to their respective groups, then turns and surveys the room. Spotting the Minister, he dodges several wizards and witches bearing down on him with an apologetic smile.

"Harry! Good of you to come. It's been too long since we've seen you."

"Minister..."

"Kingsley, please."

"Well, OK. I wanted to ask you -" Now it's come to it, he's not sure how to phrase his question.

"Go on."

"Um, how sure were you about Snape's loyalties?"

Kingsley's eyebrows rise.

"Whatever I thought you might ask, it wasn't that. As sure as I could be, Harry. He was a brave, brave man. Why? You saw his memories."

Harry feels a dull flush start to rise up his face.

"I did, but I also knew the man."

Kingsley regards him shrewdly.

"Forgive me, but I think you perhaps knew the teacher."

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure the hatred he felt for me was entirely personal."

"Why are you asking, Harry? Has something happened?"

"Well, no, not really …"

Kingsley remains silent, and watches Harry.

"You know I'm at Grimmauld; I've been trying to make it livable-in. It's just some stuff going on, mainly in the library …"

Harry trails off, feeling the weakness of his argument.

Kingsley twinkles at him.

"The library, you say? How remarkable. Have you had a chance to think about my proposition to you? The Aurors -"

Harry gives an uncomfortable wriggle.

" - or any of the departments, really," Kingsley carries on smoothly, "would welcome your skills."  
Harry knows he'll get no more from Kingsley, and fends off the job offers with apologies and evasions.

It's almost like when he was still at Hogwarts, and no one would tell him why Snape seemed to hate him.

Trapped by two elderly witches who want to relate their opinions about the final battle to him in detail, he is relieved when Luna drifts up and says, "Oh, you're not making Harry relive all that war business, are you? You'll have wrackspurts in your hair for weeks! Come, we need you to look at this cursed wineglass."

The witches back off in alarm, patting their hair.

Luna takes him to a quiet corner and looks at him.

"You're not enjoying yourself, are you?"

"No. I'd rather be at home," he confesses.

"Are you in communication with your godfather there?"

"With Sirius? No! Well, no, it's a portrait there. It just reminds me of - never mind."

She gazes at him dreamily for a long moment.

"Are they useful, your conversations?"

"They're a bit one-sided, actually," he laughs.

"Sometimes, those are the best kind," Luna remarks. "Oh, look, the minister is going to start. You'll be able to get back to your portrait soon."

He smiles at her; somehow, she seems to make him feel better.

"You should come over for a visit sometime. I'll introduce you to my portrait."

"I will. Now you'd better get up there."

***

"... and then, Shacklebolt changed the subject and started trying to get me to join the Ministry again."

"Indeed?"

Harry starts; it is the first time the portrait has spoken. The voice was deep, harsh, strained. He chances a look at the picture, turning his head slightly, slowly. The figure in the chair is still a dark smudge, with no visible face.

"Is it Shacklebolt trying to give me a job that is interesting?"

No answer, so Harry glances at the portrait.

"You know, after I told Shacklebolt about you, he twinkled. I thought he was going to offer me a sherbert lemon."

He sees the flurry of material, but still no glimpse of face.

"Is there any way I can help you?"

He waits, keeping an eye on the painting, watching the figure move back and forth agitatedly.

"Perhaps you could suggest some books to leave open for you?"

"I need to get out of here," the voice rasps.

"It was the spell, yes? The entrapment spell?"

Harry thinks the portrait won't speak, the silence lasts so long.

"Yes."

He stands in front of the portrait to say, "I will get you out."

He knows the spell he spoke. He knows it worked; did it not send Dolohov to the Ministry holding cells?

The only variable, then, must be -

Hermione says, "I keyed it so anyone who intended to harm you would be sent to the Ministry."

"Yes, and anyone who didn't mean to harm me would have nothing happen."

"So?"

"What would happen if, say, someone who thought they weren't going to harm me, but I thought they were, came to the door?"

"How do you mean?"

"One of the women who pursue me, say?"

Hermione snorted, but said, "Yes, I can see that might be problematic. It's your thoughts that take precedence in that instance. They shouldn't get in. Have you had trouble?"

"I'm not sure. What would happen if I was unsure of their intentions?"

"Again, I'm not sure. Someone who could harm you, but hadn't actively done so or formed a plan to do so would be allowed in, as Marietta was to the DA."

"But we don't know if she was planning to betray us before she went home, and we didn't meet afterwards before she told Umbridge."

"I don't know. Is there something specific you're looking for?"

Harry considers telling her, but then reconsiders.

"I'm not sure. Let me think about it overnight. If I'm not in touch with you by tomorrow evening, send out a search party."

"You're worrying me now. What's happened?"

"Maybe - just maybe, something good?"

***

Harry props the little portrait on the desk and sits down facing it. The figure in the chair isn't much clearer, even though the reading light is bright.

"I don't believe you mean me any harm."

He thinks he sees the furtive glint of eyes in the downturned face.

"I'm trying to get you out of there. You believe you will harm me?"

"I may."

Harry draws his wand, just in case, but continues to watch the portrait.

"I think you have kept me safe, saved me, more times than I can count. I don't know how you survived, but I don't think you will harm me, and I want to see you again, to speak with you."

A crack, almost like Apparition, and a flash of light blind and deafen Harry for a moment.

"And don't come back, you misbegotten whelp of a cat's squint-eye!"

Harry gapes, astonished, as Snape straightens, brushing off his robes.

"I shall be off now, if that trap you've set on your door doesn't banish me to some further purgatory."

He is almost out the door before Harry unscrambles his brains to call, "Wait!"

Snape turns slowly, sneer in place.

"You - you've been in that portrait for ages. Have something to eat and drink first."

Snape raises an eyebrow.

"I have just been released from your entrapment and you offer me food?"

"Well, yeah, you have to be hungry after all that?"

"Are you utterly addled? I presume your friends, if they ever call, do not end up visiting portraits?"

"No. But - you don't mean me any harm, do you, Professor Snape?"

"I am no longer your professor. And the sort of harm I might visit upon you may not be the sort you could easily identify, at least not straight away."

Harry looks at him, frowning, then laughs, "If you're talking about my reputation …"

"Yes, your reputation. You can't understand what it is to have everyone shrink away from you as if you were contaminated."

"Well, my second year, when people thought I was opening the Chamber, was pretty dire."

"And then, you were the Golden Boy again."

"Until everyone thought I'd sneaked my name into the Goblet."

"But each instance, your time as a pariah has been brief. It has passed."

"And you believe it never will, for you."

"Do you really believe it would? That it should?"

Harry gazes at the man, not his teacher any more but just a man, and says, "Yes. Come and have some food."

After another hard stare, Snape inclines his head slightly, and they go down to the kitchen.

From the way the tea and sandwiches disappear, Harry knows he was right in insisting his ex-teacher stay.

Once Snape seems to be settled, he asks, "But what was it that caused you to be caught in the portrait?"

"Your protection charm, of course."

"That was supposed to send people who meant to harm me to the Aurors. It did send Dolohov to the holding cells when he turned up here."

"I suggest you check it - obviously it's not working properly."

"Or perhaps, you didn't intend to harm me. No, what I meant is, why did you come here?"

"To consult at a book in the Black library."

"Well, why don't you have a look for it when you finish?"

Snape stares at him again, then shrugs.

"If you have so little regard for your safety, so be it."

He watches Snape as the man finishes the sandwich and tea and fastidiously wipes his fingers on a napkin that appears by his plate. He's known the man has protected him as best he could all his life, and he suddenly thinks of Dobby, nearly killing him in the effort of 'protecting' him. The pieces of the puzzle rearrange in his mind; now he just has to decide what he wants to do about it. Although, he already knows. Ever since he realised who the 'Half-blood Prince' was, he's known. The only question is, how to get around Snape's obvious reluctance.

"You're welcome to come and use the library whenever you want," he offers, then has an idea. "I could use a little help with it."

Snape raises an eyebrow and Harry's hopes rise that he might be seeing that arch of eyebrow rather more often.

"As you know, there are a considerable number of rather unfriendly books in the library. What you may not know is that there are some even more dangerous ones in the Black vault."

Snape's other eyebrow rises to join the first.

"And you want ...?"

"I'm asking for your help with them. I could ask Ron or Hermione, but as they both work for the Ministry, it might be putting them in an awkward position."

"Whereas I have no position or scruples?"

"Whereas you would know what you were looking at, and more importantly, would know or could work out how to deal with any nastiness. I would feel much safer if you helped me with this," Harry says firmly. He knows Snape will never refuse this.

"And what do I get from this?"

"Well, you'd get free access to the library, without any danger of ending up in a portrait. And you'd have the pleasure of my company. What is it you're researching, anyway?"

Snape, who is halfway to making a sour face, looks at him sharply.

"Only, if I knew the subject, I could maybe help?"

After a moment, Snape nods. "Memory curses. In particular, long-term memory damage."

"Like the Longbottoms. Do you really think there might be some hope?"

"There will certainly not be any hope if nobody looks for a cure. And now, I must go; I will send a message as to when might be convenient for continuing my research."

Harry scrambles to his feet as Snape stands up.

"I'll see if I can dig out any books for you. Um - do you think it might be an idea to test the security charm? Just in case you happen to come when I'm not around?"

Snape sends him a slightly less frosty look than usual, "I expect you to gain control over your house protection charms, Potter. I will owl you when I intend to come."

***

Their first visit to the Black vaults is undertaken with Snape in disguise. They have no wish to attract attention, and Harry's relations with Gringotts are difficult already.

"We will be some time," Harry tells the goblin accompanying them, but the only way they are left alone is by being locked into the vault.

"I will return in two hours," the goblin assures them with an evil leer.

Before Snape can touch anything, Harry says, "Protean charm. There was a Protean charm when we were here last."

"Was this when you endeared yourself to the bank's employees?" Snape comments, but sends various revealing and disabling spells around the vault.

Harry follows him as he goes straight to the stack of books.

"I suggest you don't touch anything in here," Snape cautions, before starting a new set of spells.

By the end of the allotted time, they have a number of books each.

Harry is relieved when the vault door opens.

"Will you come back to Grimmauld with them?"

Snape looks at him curiously, but nods.

While Harry sets about getting them sandwiches, Snape carefully leafs through the books. Harry is aware of glances following his movements around the kitchen, but is never able to catch Snape looking. He studies the black hair, narrow shoulders when he fetches things from the larder.

Harry sits in the library, smiling. The soft sound of turning pages, skritch of a quill over parchment, the fire crackling low. It's how he's imagined spending his days.

"Are you well?" the gravelly voice asks.

He starts, realising he's been gazing over at Snape for a good while, lost in his daydream of domesticity.

"Yes. I was just thinking -"

"I suppose we should encourage that."

"Very funny. It isn't only this you're researching, is it?"

Snape raises an eyebrow. He's reluctant to give the brat any hold, any information on him.

"The multiple spell injuries. Padma Patil was in St. Mungo's for months, then suddenly, she was better; Hannah, and Tony Goldstein, too, just around the same time."

Snape inclines his head.

"Well, wouldn't it make sense for you to continue using the library here? You could set up in the alcove by the fire. There's plenty of space for a potions room downstairs, too."

"You almost sound eager for me to stay."

"Well, yeah. I guess. And I've been some help to you, haven't I?"

Snape considers him. Certainly, Potter has shown surprising tenacity in research and a quirky intellect in considering alternative applications for some of the spells they've looked at. The Hogwarts food is an added bonus, if only he could work out why the young man was so eager for his company. That he can keep an eye on Potter is useful; he will admit no more than that.

Potter's face falls.

"Ah, but you probably already have your lab set up. You could still do the research here. I'd be happy to help."

"No ambition to try out for Quidditch teams? I can understand your reluctance to involve yourself in the Ministry."

"No, it just seems like a foolish game now. I enjoy a friendly match, don't get me wrong, but to spend all my time playing?"

"And yet, you seem to have not been doing anything at all for the last year."

"Maybe I've been waiting for the right thing to come along."

"Without making any effort to seek 'the right thing', it very rarely just comes along."

"Perhaps this is another thing that works differently for me."

"Another thing?"

"Mm. The Occlumency. For me, it seems to work on pure emotion, rather than no emotion."

"Does it, now."

He turns to face the young man, standing so bright in the light of the fire.

"Legilimens," he intones.

He feels as if his feet have been pulled from beneath him, he's tossed and turned in sparkling sunlight, starbursts of brightness ricochet around his head, and he can barely remember that he can tear free of this chaos.

One knee on the floor, Snape shakes his head, finding something to grab hold of to pull himself to his feet.

He's holding Potter's arm, and Potter is guiding him to the chair which he slumps into.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry; maybe I overdid it a bit. Happiness. That was happiness."

He peers up at the young man, still bedazzled, and says, "You could have defeated The Dark Lord with that alone, I believe."

Harry laughs, "Well, what do you think?"

"I think, Mr. Potter, that we may have some useful collaboration possibilities here."

He is still staring at the man, various thought trains forming. The foremost of the thoughts, however, is that Potter appears to be inordinately happy for him to be here. And that is unusual enough to require careful study.

"I will return tomorrow, or the day after. I will owl you."

Potter nods, and sends a brilliant smile his way. Taken aback, he nods and goes, before anything else might happen. 

***

They stand, one each side of Emsworth’s bed. The young Auror is singing a nursery rhyme softly - “Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle ...”

Shacklebolt has arranged a private room for the attempt, with the man’s ex-partner guarding the door. If anything can be done for his team-mate, nothing will come through the door to prevent it.

“No heroics, Potter. Remember, the briefest look around. As soon as I say go, you will get out. Ready?” Snape grates, still not convinced of the plan.

Harry nods, meeting his eyes.

They’ve decided a neutral, calm mood from Harry, with Snape probing for any remnants of reason, will give them the best chance.

They turn their gaze to the pale blue blank eyes, and Snape and Harry intone, “Legilimens.”

He is aware of the warm presence beside him, and the blank, bleak landscape around them. They’re in a murky, muddy twilight, no landmarks visible, nothing but a single dim point of light. He feels Snape slowly, tentatively reach out for the light, and struggles to keep the calmness flowing as the muddy twilight starts to swirl and eddy.

“No. Out, now!”

They’re both standing as they were before, but Emsworth is restlessly moving on the bed, a deep crease between his brows.

Harry glances at Snape, who is still looking at Emsworth worriedly, and says, “I’m just going to calm him.”

He slides into the mind, projecting calm lake, snowfall, bringing the turbulent twilight slowly toward peace, when he is jerked out of the mindscape back to the hospital room.

Snape is white, shaking with fury, gripping his arm tightly.

“You reckless imbecile! This is why I didn’t want to do this!” he hisses.

“Let go. He was calming down. You’re getting him worried again.“

Harry casts an Imperturbable charm around them.

Snape lets go of his arm, only to seize the front of his robes, backing him to the wall.

“Reckless! Impetuous!”

“Nothing happened. What did you see?” Harry puts his hands on Snape’s chest, to give himself a little room; the man has crowded him into a corner, their faces inches apart. He pushes some of the calming feeling Snape’s way.

“Don’t you try that on me! I’m attempting to keep you out of danger!”

“All right. Fine, but what I saw was a dark nothingness, and a wind starting to get up. When I went back in, I was calming him, and it was working. No danger. What did you see?”

Now Snape has calmed a bit, he could stay like this, those dark eyes focused intently on him, the lean body so close he can feel the heat radiating off the man.

Snape seems to come to himself, realising they are standing way too close, and jerks away.

“The darkness. The minute light. But the muttering, whispering, the shapes? You didn’t notice those?”

“No. Look. I’ll show you,” Harry invites.

Snape turns suspiciously, but allows himself to view Harry’s memory of the event.

“So, you saw and heard worrying, dangerous things?”

Harry knows he is still angry, but if anything is to come of this, he has to persevere.

“The reactions are different for each of us. Maybe there is no danger to me, but there is to you?”

“And perhaps you simply don’t notice it.”

“Can we maybe go back and talk about it? We’re not going to do any more here today, are we?”

Snape glances at Emsworth, who is back to singing to himself, then at Harry.

“Back?”

“To the library. To Grimmauld,” Harry explains.

Snape relaxes slightly. “If you wish,” he says.

 

The work on combining their Legilimency is difficult, but melding their different attitudes and ways of working is much harder.

“You can’t protect me completely however much you try! I could walk out of the door here and be knocked over by the Knight Bus tonight!”

Snape sends a fierce look his way.

“You have no idea of the dangers you may encounter in someone else’s mind!”

“What – more than in Voldemort’s?”

“Precis – in the Dark Lord’s, Potter?” Snape ends quietly.

“Yes. Several times. I was also in his snake’s mind. When she attacked Arthur.”

Snape dismisses that with a gesture.

“There was Tom Riddle, with the diary. Then, after the Third Task, when he was regenerated, or whatever it was Wormtail did. Crucio and all. When I dreamed, and I was him. And at the end.”

Snape is staring at him.

“Perhaps there isn’t enough inside your head to addle,” Snape growls, but his heart isn’t in it.

“And perhaps I just don’t break easily,” Harry mutters.

“You do not,” Snape acknowledges.

“Nor do I give up easily.” He stares straight at Snape.

Snape stares back, his thumb moving over his lip.

“Back to work,” is all he says, however.

The day they get a response from Emsworth makes all their hard work worthwhile. It’s not much, just a focused look at Harry, who’s been calming him after Snape has worked the light closer, but it’s a step forwards after weeks of work.

They return to the Grimmauld kitchen, as has become their habit, to discuss and decide on the next move. Kreacher brings food and a bottle of wine.

“Wine?” Harry says. 

“I suppose it is a celebration,” Snape says, shrugging, but looks uncomfortable.

There is an uncomfortable tension in the room, strange after weeks of working together.

They pick at the food, drinking the wine until Snape snaps, “Oh, for Merlin’s sake – ” gets up pushing his chair over, strides to Harry and leans down to kiss him.

Their noses bump as Harry tries to get up, then he knocks Snape’s jaw with his forehead. He can’t help but dissolve into laughter, only stopping with a hiccup as he sees Snape’s furious white face as he leaves.

“Wait,” Harry shouts, stumbling after him, but Snape is gone.

Harry sits at the table, nursing a coffee, thinking over the evening. Snape’s Floo is shut to him, as he expected. The note he sent, explaining, apologising, has come back unopened.

It won’t be easy, he knows. He has no doubt that dreadful things must be running through Snape’s mind at the moment. He mustn’t wait any longer. Mind made up, he stands and Apparates.

The high gentle sweep of the downs is unbroken apart from the low roof and chimney. He’s a little surprised he can stride to the door, but there is no answer when he knocks. The chimney’s wisp of rising smoke belies the outward uninhabited appearance. 

“Snape! Snape – Severus – please.”

He is weary of banging on the door, and lets his forehead rest on the smooth wood.

He suddenly has the image of Severus’ forehead resting in the same way a door’s thickness away.

He starts slowly, knowing the man can block him at any moment if he wishes.

Just the first, tentative moments when he realised he felt comfortable, safe with the portrait, and his moment of revelation, when he remembered where he’d seen that hunched shape looking warily out. His promise to free him. The gradual growth of enjoyment in working together, in being together, even when they argued, even when it was difficult.

The door opens slowly, and Harry moves with it, his forehead still resting on the panel.

“You know that’s not where we can be any more.”

“Let me show you the next part. I hadn’t finished.”

He follows the man walking wearily down the dark hallway to the kitchen.

“That’s why I don’t drink,” Harry says, “I’m not able to handle it.”

Snape looks up at him sourly from his seat.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he continues softly, and sends the next heartstopping moment, when he looked, and really saw the man in all his beautiful imperfection.

He walks around the table, which suddenly seems as long as a Quidditch pitch, never taking his eyes from the dark ones watching him closely, and bends down very slowly to touch his mouth to the thin lips.

“You know, I’ve never done this,” he says.

“Oh, I’ve kissed before,” he amends hastily at the frown starting to form, “but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

“Why?”

“It never seemed to be the right moment, the right person.”

“You’re unlikely to meet many people sitting at home.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anyway, Ron and Hermione and Ginny tried, setting me up with people.”

“Did they.”

Harry smiles at the animosity in the words.

“Yes. No good, though. They thought I was pining for a dead man.”

“You were pining ...”

“Mm. When you said, look at me. I couldn’t get that out of my head, you know? I’d never really seen you, and yet, I did know, somewhere.”

“What did you know?”

“Just this,” Harry straddles the long legs, sits, and begins to learn how to properly kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3671105.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1616246.html), or [Dreamwidth](http://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/918543.html).


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